How I Met Your Mother A Discworld Romance
by Morwen Tindomerel
Summary: How a Prince of Serap came to meet and marry a young Ramtops witch. A story of Princess Marie-Suzette's parents.
1. Chapter 1

His Royal and Serene Highness Prince Feodor le Dragula, Prince Royale of Serap, Hereditary Grand Duke of Palma-Pachek-Brag and Prince of Esex-Burco-Sexfield lay, arms folded behind his head, on the hard wooden shelf-bed gazing meditatively up at the assorted molds and fungi decorating the dim dungeon ceiling.

He was every bit as calm as he seemed. Princes errant absolutely expected to end up in a dungeon at least once per adventure. Of course this time around his captors were no less than four Elven Queens which meant he would be wise to remove himself and his Princess from their hands as expeditiously as possible. However clearly nothing could be done towards that end at this moment so he possessed his soul in patience and waited for the opportunity that was sure to come.

To describe its arrival as unexpected would be a considerable understatement. The air beside his bed rippled and glowed and formed itself into a pretty, redheaded girl in periwinkle blue peasant dress, complete with calico print neckerchief and apron, which rather clashed with the black cloak around her shoulders and peaked witches' hat upon her head. She held a glimmering silvery wand. Feodor frankly stared.

"Your Highness? I am your fairy godmother!" the apparition announced grandly.

He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

She frowned and repeated, "I am your fairy godmother!" in a louder voice.

Feodor sat up, embracing his knees. "I heard you, I was requesting further information. Forgive me but you seem a little young for the role."

Her frown deepened, wrinkling her little freckled nose in a positively fetching way. "Your original fairy godmother, Beldame Folderol, died two months ago. I inherited the job from her."

"I see," the prince said politely. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." The fairy godmother blinked some sudden tears out of her eyes and gave him a once-over, taking in the worn leathers and stubble on the chin. "You are Prince Feodor of Serap, aren't you?" She asked dubiously.

His eyes twinkled but he kept his face straight. "That's right." He was quite accustomed to meeting with a certain amount of disbelief. It wasn't just the comfortable, practical clothes and lack of magical grooming skills. Though a handsome man in his way Feodor's looks did not fit the traditional princely mold. His nose was short, and slightly snubbed. He lacked both chiseled cheekbones and cleft chin. His fair hair was more brown than golden and his eyes were a pale ice blue rather than the regulation cerulean , and revealed a rather alarming degree of intelligence and character.

"Right. Then we've got to get you out of here." Turning the godmother waved her wand at the cell door it glowed briefly but seemed otherwise unaffected. "I've changed it into paper," she announced. "Just tear your way though."

Prince Feodor swung his feet to the ground and sat considering the matter. "Why can't we leave the same way you arrived?"

"Because it doesn't work that way!" the fairy godmother said irritably. "Narrative causality requires you to fight your way out - I'd have thought you'd know that!"

"I was afraid of it," Feodor said calmly. In his experience magic NEVER made matters simpler. "Very well, can you provide me with a weapon?"

"I guess so." She looked around the cell. It was quite empty save for the smelly bucket in the corner. She aimed her wand at it. "Right. What would you like, a sword?"

"Actually I'm an axe man. Two handed and double headed please."

The godmother shrugged and made circular motions with the wand tip. The bucket glowed and transformed itself into a long handled double bladed battle axe of traditional dwarf design.

Prince Feodor hefted it then took an experimental swing. "Very nice. In fact excellent work."

"Thank you," the godmother said a little smugly. "Can we get going now?"

"Certainly. Do you have any idea where the kitchens are?"

"No, why?"

"Because that's where Princess Suzette is and I can't leave without her."

The godmother frowned again, eyes darkening almost threateningly. "Nobody told me about any princess!"

"I'm sorry about that," Prince Feodor said politely. "But I'm afraid the rules require me to rescue her - as many times as necessary."

"Blast and damn! Well we're just going to have to look for her."

"That should be interesting," Prince Feodor agreed. And ripped the paper door from top to bottom.

-------

The guardroom and upper halls were full of creatures made up of a horrible mix of human and animal parts. There were bull heads on human bodies, human torsos and arms with frogs heads and legs, man-sized and armed snakes, clawed bat things with human faces and legs, and so forth and so on, each more nightmarish than the last. They attacked Prince Feodor with gusto and he chopped them down without remorse, knowing full well a clean death was all that he, or anybody else, could do for the poor beasts.

He fought his way to the great hall and when he'd run out of opponents paused to think. His godmother was right behind him, her shoes red from the blood she'd been wading through. Her freckles stood out on her pallid face and she looked sick to her stomach.

Feodor reached out, took her by the chin and tilted her face upward away from the bodies and gore. "Don't look," he said kindly. She swallowed hard and he glanced aside to give her time to recover herself. "Strange that all this hasn't brought out our hostesses."

"I imagine they're asleep. Elves tend to be nocturnal you know and it was high noon when I came in here."

"Good. Maybe we'll get a head start then." He looked back at her with a sudden smile. "I'm counting on you to deal with them if they catch up with us, godmother."

"I will." she gripped her wand and some color leaked back into her cheeks.

"Now then, the kitchens should be this way..."

Prince Feodor's knowledge of standard castle layout served him well. The cavernous kitchen with its three gigantic hearths was exactly where it belonged, at the end of a short passage beyond the buttery and pantry. It also appeared to be empty. "Suzette?"

"Feodor!" a conventionally beautiful princess with a small gilt coronet on her tousled blond curls crept out from under the big table and stood shaking out the skirts of her entirely impractical and improbably spotless white silk gown. "Was all that screaming and clanging you?"

"Who else?" He glanced at the small redheaded girl behind him. "Godmother, this is Her Royal Highness the Princess Suzette Ishbel Aurelie of Grenfell. Su, this is my fairy godmother."

"Your what?" Princess Suzette's round blue eyes got even rounder.

"His fairy godmother," that young lady repeated coldly. "I inherited the job from my teacher. My name is Krystina Rose, of the Benoic Roses, Witch of Berry Ban."

"How do you do?" said the Princess, remembering her manners. "Of course I've heard of your family. You provide all of the best witches in this part of the world, don't you? Feodor is very lucky to have a Rose for his fairy godmother."

The Princess' diplomacy worked. Krystina smiled, mollified.

Feodor turned his head towards the open door to the passage. It was still quiet out there, but for how long? "I think we'd better be going, ladies."

-------

Princess Suzette caught up with Feodor under the arch of the postern gate and grabbed his sleeve, bringing him to an abrupt halt. "What about Buttercup?"

"Good question," he said. "Godmother, do you know what happened to our horses?"

"No idea," she answered shortly. "You'd better hope they were left, it's that or become fodder for the Elven horses."

Suzette's face crumpled. Feodor put a firm finger on the tip of her nose. "No tears, Su, we don't have the time."

She sniffed, swallowed and mopped her eyes with her flowing sleeve. "You'll tell me when?"

"Of course." He turned to his godmother. "I think the best plan is to backtrack to our camp. With luck our mounts and equipment might still be there." He smiled crookedly. "I presume this fine axe you made for me won't last forever?"

"It'll change back at midnight, that's the rules."

"Of course," he sighed. Magic never made things easier.

The trail left by their captors proved easy to follow. Sharp hooves had cut and churned the verdant turf spread like a velvet carpet beneath flowering rowan and silver barked birch and beech trees. Princess Suzette looked around her in wonder. "It's all so different by day!"

"It is indeed," her Prince agreed grimly.

"It's meant to lure people in," said Krystina.

"That would explain it," said the Prince with a sidelong glance at Suzette.

She flushed. "All right, I know. It's all my fault and I'm sorry."

Feodor sighed and put an arm around her shoulders. "Not all your fault, Su. I could have said no." Turning to Krystina walking one his other side he explained: "Our road forked at the ridge hubwards from here. One led up towards the snowline the other down into this valley. Su, naturally enough, preferred the valley and I didn't know any better than to agree."

Suzette smiled up at him and then across him at Krystina. "Feodor's being sweet. I quivered my chin at him and threatened to cry. I was just so sick of snow and cold!"

The Prince's eyebrows arched slightly. "And since when am I susceptible to quivering chins and tears?"

The Princess laughed out loud. "Since always! All the nicest men are, aren't they Mistress Rose?"

"And even some who aren't so nice," the young witch agreed.

"Oh dear. And I thought I had hardened myself against such wiles," Feodor sighed histrionically.

"No man ever does," Princess Suzette said smugly.

"Which is lucky for us women," said Krystina.

-----

The campsite was encircled by a ring of cut brambles and thorny wild rose. A tall, dappled blue (1) destrier threw back his head in a high whinny of recognition at the sight of them, then hopped the low barrier to nuzzle Feodor while a pretty, pale gold palfrey greeted Suzette no less joyfully.

"Well that lets me off one bout of tears anyway," he remarked to Krystina, pushing his horse's head aside. "Yes, Steel, yes I am glad to see you! Now let me talk to my godmother."

"I see you took some precautions," she answered.

He smiled crookedly. "I'm not a complete idiot, though I might as well have been for all the good they did." The stallion butted his master, nearly knocking him off his feet. "Stop that, Steel!" Holding the animal off with a hand on its neck he continued; "We'd best stay here tonight I think. Unless you know of a place more defensible?"

Krystina looked at the sun, low over the widdershin mountains, and agreed. "I don't know the valley at all I'm afraid, nobody ever comes here."

"I can see why," Feodor said dryly.

-----

NOTES:

1. 'Blue' means dark gray in terms of coat colors for horses.


	2. Chapter 2

The first order of business, Feodor decided, was to gather more brambles and thorny vines. He and Suzette produced leather gauntlets from their saddlebags and Krystina used her wand to turn a couple of leaves into a pair for herself. Feodor instructed the ladies to leave one side lower than the rest.

"But why?" Suzette asked, puzzled.

Feodor smiled a little grimly. "Because Elves are not the brightest candles in the rack and tend to follow the path of least resistance. I'd rather not be surrounded if I can possibly help it."

"Of course these aren't true Elves but Elf-kin," (1) Krystina observed thoughtfully. "On the other hand they do act and think Elf rather than human."

"I certainly hope so," said Feodor.

After building up the bramble barrier he set them all to gathering wood. "I want the biggest, brightest bonfire we can manage."

"Elves don't mind fire," Krystina frowned.

He smiled. "I'm thinking of light, godmother. Light for us to see by and blind their nightsight."

Krystina nodded again. Clearly this godson of hers knew what he was about.

Princess Suzette agreed. "Feodor is very clever."

"I'd better be," he said a little grimly.

Dusk deepened into twilight and all was ready. The bramble barrier rose high on three sides and was lines with neatly piled fire wood with a bonfire laid ready in a circle of stones in the middle.

"Su, it'll be your job to keep the fire going," Feodor told his Princess. "And get your dagger, the steel alone will be some protection and with luck you won't have to use it." He turned to Krystina. "Any suggestions, godmother?"

"Just one," she said. "An octagon can used to keep things out as well as in. It won't protect us from physical attack but it will keep any spellcraft they try at bay."

Feodor grinned. "I'll take any advantage I can get! Please, proceed."

"Right." Krystina took the wand from her apron pocket stepped over the low part and walked the bounds of their little fortification. A beam or ray from the wand tip carved a furrow in the ground at the foot of the bramble barrier as she muttered a spell under her breath. She hopped back inside. "Well that should do some good anyway."

Feodor looked around and found it good. "That's about everything, I guess."

"Not quite everything." Krystina bent to pick up a twig and held it at arms-length. It twisted, thickened, lengthened. She twirled the staff experimentally and gave the Prince and Princess a smile. "Like Daddy always says, there's nothing quite like six feet of solid oak in a tight place."

-----

The darkness deepened and the wood began to change. The pretty flowering rowan and shapely beech and birch crouched and gnarled, reshaping into squat black oak and hemlock and skinny elder joining leafless fingers in a tangle overhead. Bramble and rose turned to thickets of nettle and thorn. The air took on an damp chill and was filled with evil little rustles and whispers.

"Which is real?" Suzette whispered. "The pretty wood or this?"

"Both," Krystina answered. "In their own time."

"Magic doesn't do business with the law of mutual exclusion," Feodor murmured.

"No," the witch agreed.

The howling began, distant but growing closer. Princess Suzette frowned. "That doesn't sound right."

"Oh I'd say it's about what we could expect," Feodor answered.

"No, I mean the howls are wrong somehow." she persisted.

"As if they're not coming from dogs' throats?" Krystina asked quietly. "That's because they're not."

Suzette looked at the witch warily. "I won't ask."

"No need, you'll be seeing for yourself soon enough," said Feodor. "Build up the fire, Su, and keep it going."

Giant hounds bounded from the dark beneath the trees, firelight reflecting redly in eyes and off bared fangs, and hurled themselves over the bramble barrier - at the low spot just as Feodor has hoped. He severed the head of the leader with his first swing and loped off another with the return stroke. He was using his own axe now, long handled and double headed like the one Krystina had made for him but rather more permanent. It sang as he etched the dark air with patterns of blood and fire.

A hound got by him to snap at Suzette, she wacked it hard in the teeth with the branch of firewood in her hands and it gave a howl cut off as its spine snapped under a blow from Krystina's staff.

Suzette turned back to her bonfire then recoiled as it rose in a roaring column of orange and red, shooting sparks high into the stygian sky. It bent, the point of its flame touching the end of Krystina's staff. Little red tongues of fire ran its length then the whole burst into white hot radiance. The witch twirled it over her head then thrust it deep into the mouth of an attacking hound and out the back of its head. Two others fell into burning pieces sliced neatly in half, one horizontally, one lengthwise. Silence fell.

Suzette stared at the bodies and bits of bodies scattered around her feet. They were indeed those of hounds, big black and hairy, but the snarling heads with their glassy eyes were human - or had been. She looked away, sickened. "It's horrible!"

"Yes," Feodor agreed grimly.

Krystina touched the remains, piece by piece, with the tip of her blazing staff and they vanished in a puff of smoke and fire.

The Prince looked at her weapon with interest. "Not exactly witch magic, godmother."

"Daddy's a wizard," she shrugged. "I've picked up a trick or two from him."

Feodor opened his mouth for a follow up question - as wizards are not supposed to have children much less teach them tricks - then the Elf-host arrived, slipping like so many shadows out of the darkness to glimmer red-gold at the edge of the firelight.

"Keep that fire going," Feodor ordered softly. Suzette hastily bent to pile on more wood.

Krystina stepped up onto the low edge of the barrier, gaining some much needed height. The staff burned white-hot in her hand. She'd lost her hat and her neatly pinned hair was coming down. She looked formidable.

"I am Krystina, daughter of Pearl, Daughter of Margotta, Daughter of Roxelana, A Rose of Ban Benoic," she announced raising her voice above the crackling of the fire. "This man is my godson, a true prince of the Line of the First King. If I were you I'd turn around right now."

A slender, somehow spidery horse danced forward, black as pitch, red of eye and sharp of hoof. The rider also glistened darkly, hair flowing wild on her shoulders beneath a red-gold crown. "I am Morga, queen of air and darkness!" a pale horse with a pale rider both shining with an unhealthy greenish light, came to her side, and a blood red hose with a red rider and an iron gray with an armored rider. "These are my consorts; Queen Leso, Queen Nethe and Queen Ogra. These are our knights and squires. You stand on our ground, witch, and you are outnumbered!"

Krystina contemplated queens and host. "I'm not impressed." She turned her head to address Feodor. "What about you?"

He surveyed the opposition thoughtfully and decided. "Not so much. Suzette, any opinion?"

"Their kitchen is filthy and I don't like the help," his Princess answered decidedly.

"That makes it unanimous," Feodor looked at the Elf queens and bared his teeth in a predatory grin that made the Yell-Hounds look like friendly, gamboling puppies - human heads and all. "Very well, ladies, bring it on!"

-----

The slow thick disclight flowed like clear honey through the clefts of the turnwise mountains and into the magical valley. It touched the dark and hoary trees and they blanched and straightened becoming again slender silvery birch and beech and flowering rowan. It expanding into the little clearing chasing away the swirls and eddies of the night's darkness.

All the wood and part of the bramble barrier was gone, ashes in the still smoldering fire. Suzette sat beside it, skirts every which way, smears of charcoal on her face and her coronet sliding sideways.

Krystina dropped a charred stick into the coals and collapsed next to the princess. "That was a night!"

"Almost as bad as the escape from the Demon-Knight's castle," Suzette agreed.

Krystina looked at her with interest. "That's where he rescued you from?"

"Oh yes," Suzette smiled at her Prince. "He's good. Even if he will use that old axe instead of a proper sword."

"I like my axe. It's decisive." Feodor pulled a leather flask from his saddle-bag and handed it to Suzette.

She took a pull, then passed it on to Krystina. "Have some, but not too much."

The witch took a cautious sip and her eyes flew wide then she started to choke. Suzette pounded her on the back. "You've got to just toss it down," she said sympathetically. "The less you taste it the better."

"You can say that again!" Krystina wheezed. "What was that?"

"Oh, just a little recipe of my grandmother's," Feodor grinned. "Really give you a jolt doesn't it?"

"To say the least!" she mopped her eyes.

Suzette stood up, looking over the remains of the barrier at the churned ground, littered with slashed cloaks and broken swords. "Can Elves be killed?"

"Oh yes," Krystina answered, busily tucking her hair up under her rather dented hat. "For all the good it does, there are always more. By this time next week there'll be new queens, new knights and all the rest."

"But they won't be our problem, thank Io," the Prince said firmly. "If you ladies are quite ready, I think we should get while the getting is good, don't you?"

-----

NOTES:

1. 'Elf-kin' are Elf/human hybrids abandoned when the true Elves were forced back into their own dimension. So-called 'Elves' residing on the disc in places like this Ramtops valley or the Forest of Skund are actually Elf-kin. As Krystina observes they have most of the weaknesses of true Elves and are, if anything, even more sociopathic.


	3. Chapter 3

Two horses came over the saddle between Peak Two and Peak Three (1) Princess Suzette was mounted aside on Buttercup, her white skirts shining like new snow and gilt crown sparkling, but no brighter than her golden curls. Prince Feodor on Steel was an altogether more mundane figure in his aging leathers with Krystina riding pillion behind him. The tiny kingdom of Grenfell lay before them.

It sloped in rugged fells from the skirts of its four mountains down to the Tumble river and was bounded turnwise by the Cutshade forest with the equally small kingdoms of Riverdell and Coll rimward and widdershins. The land was green with summer grass and dotted with flocks of sheep. Smoke rose from hamlet and homestead.

Suzette pointed. "There's the castle."

It stood on the high ground near the base of Peak Two, a square of walls with a tower at each corner and a turreted keep in the middle. A fairly large town clung to the hillside below, snug inside its own walls. It wasn't until they'd gotten much closer that they saw the black pavilion set up on the fairground commanding both castle and town gates.

Suzette reined in sharply. "Oh no! He followed us!"

"No," Feodor, corrected, "He got ahead of us. If he'd been following we'd have led him right into the Elves. Pity we didn't."

"That's the Demon Knight?" Krystina guessed.

"You got it," said Feodor.

"What are we going to do?" Suzette wrung her hands. "He's got the castle and town blockaded!"

"Excuse me, I think I'm missing something here," said Krystina. "He's only one man."

Suzette looked at her. "He's a demon!"

Krystina looked at Feodor, or rather the back of his head, which nodded.

"Believe me, he can make it impossible for either the castle folk or the townspeople to leave the protection of their walls."

"But you got into his castle," said Krystina.

He shrugged. "That's different. I'm a hero."

"Do something!" said Suzette.

"Right. Get down, please, godmother."

Krystina slid to the ground. "What are you going to do?"

Feodor shrugged, "Parley of course."

-----

He rode alone down the hill to the fairground. A black shield hung on a pole a short distance from the pavilion, he struck it with his fist.

The Demon Knight of the Peaks emerged, encased from head to foot in light swallowing black armor his aura of evil perceptible at a hundred yard distance. "Who dares summon to summon me?"

"That would have been me," Feodor answered calmly. The Black Knight stalked closer, the waving plumes of his helmet almost level with Feodor's head despite the latter being mounted and the former afoot. "Forgive me if I seem unduly inquisitive, but may I ask why you are blockading this castle and town?"

"I wait for the champion who stole my bride from me," the booming voice replied.

Feodor cleared his throat. "Uh, that's me again."

"YOU!" Demonic incredulity fairly echoed off the defensive walls and was clearly audible to Krystina and Suzette a quarter mile away.

"Afraid so," Feodor said apologetically. "Not quite what you expected?" He sensed he was being studied from behind the hideous mask-like visor.

"YOU penetrated my wall of poisoned thorns?"

"That's right."

"You passed the sphynx guarding the first gate?"

"I love riddles."

"Slew the Wraith Knights on guard in the barbican?"

"I'm not sure 'slew' is exactly the right word -"

"Deprived my chimera of its sting?"

"They make much better pets that way."

"Passed through my gallery of madness?"

"It helps to be a bit mad already, I think."

"Faced the terrors of the Eight Locks?"

"Now that part was a bit iffy."

"YOU claim to be a knight and champion??"

Feodor abruptly dropped the mild manner, his eyes gleamed like glacial ice. "I do not 'claim', Demon. I am Feodor de Apel de Serap of the lineage of Drago the Badass. The blood of the First King runs in my veins and Blind Io himself is my patron. Your so-called bride was taken by force, I rescued her at the behest of her father King Roi. Go now, or face the consequences."

"And those would be?" the Demon demanded scornfully.

Feodor smiled and the Black Knight took an involuntary step backward. "Me."

The Demon recovered. "I will hurl you into the fires of Hell!"

Feodor's smile widened. "Already been, they couldn't wait to let me out."

-----

"What now?" Krystina asked worriedly as Feodor dismounted in front of them.

He shrugged. "Business as usual."

"Which is?"

"They're going to fight," Suzette said flatly.

"I did offer him a chance to retreat," said Feodor. "Armor, please, my dear."

"Help me," Su said to Krystina. The witch assisted her in taking Steel's saddle bags off his back Su opened one and pulled out a slightly battered and not very bright breastplate that was definitely too big to have fitted inside.

Krystina was to absorbed in the evident insanity going on around her to pay any attention to such a minor paradox. "You're going to fight this Demon Knight for Su?"

"That's the idea," Feodor said calmly.

"It's the standard procedure," said Suzette, piling breast plate, an equally plain and battered helmet and some unfamiliar pieces of boiled leather armor on the ground then going to help Feodor off with his cloak.

"I don't call that sensible!" Krystina snapped.

The prince spread his arms with a rueful grimace. "Welcome to my world."

"Those are the rules," said Suzette holding out her hands for the breastplate.

Krystina gave it to her. "That's idiotic."

"That's chivalry," said Feodor as his princess fastened him in.

"Pauldrons please," said Suzette. "The wide ones."

"It's insanity!" Krystina handed over the scaled leather shoulder guards. "Let me fight him. I'm a witch and I've got the wand!"

Feodor shook his head as Suzette frowned over the little buckles. "I can't, this is my quest. Su is my lady, protecting her is my job."

"And what happens to her if you lose!" Krystina demanded.

He grinned wickedly. "I wasn't planning on losing, godmother."

"Cuisses," Suzette ordered, holding out her hands.

"But, but," Krystina stuttered, outrage clogging her throat so coherent words couldn't get out. She handed over the leather thigh pieces.

The Princess knelt to fasten them on. "Look, Krys, I don't like this any better than you do. I don't want Feodor getting killed over me."

"Here now, have a little faith in your knight will you?" he protested.

"I do, but he's a demon." Finished with the arming Suzette stood back, cradling the helmet in the crook of her arm. "We can't do anything else, Krys, that's all there is to it."

"But...!"

Abruptly Feodor turned serious. He took the witch by the chin and tilted her head up to meet his steady gaze. "Krystina, all this world of ours is a tale in which each of us has his assigned role. We are bound by the rules of narrative. I am a hero, there are certain things I must do - no matter how idiotic they seem."

"He's twice your size!" Krystina cried.

A corner of the Prince's mouth rose in a crooked smile. "The bigger they are -"

"You think?" Suzette asked a little grimly.

He nodded, serious again. "Oh yes. Did you see the way he moves? Massive, but slow."

"Keep him at a distance," the Princess warned, handing over the helmet.

"Don't teach your knight how to kill giants," Feodor said mildly putting it on. He went to un-sling his axe from his saddle.

"Oh no, you're not using that!" Suzette protested.

"Damn right I am! You wanted me to keep my distance didn't you?" He pulled a sword with a highly ornate hilt and bright, shiny blade from a sheath on the other side of the saddle and held it against his axe, the latter was at least a foot longer.

Suzette bit her lip. "That's the King's sword of Grenfell!"

"And a very good sword it is, I'm sure," Feodor answered soothingly. "But I'd rather stick to the weapon I'm used to."

"You're both completely mad," Krystina said bleakly.

"Of course," Feodor answered calmly. "That comes with the territory."

----

Notes:

1. Grenfellers don't have a lot of imagination when it comes to names. By an interesting coincidence Leonard of Quirm's mother was a Grenfeller, his father's family having had a summer residence in the kingdom.


	4. Chapter 4

Her Serene Highness the Princess Suzette of Grenfell stood straight and graceful, hands folded on the hilts of the sword set upright before her, white gown and golden hair shining in the sunlight and fluttering in the gentle breeze, watching her knight ride down to battle. She looked like a picture out of a geste de romans (1) but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact she was muttering to herself:

"Damned old axe....Sword of the Kings....good enough for the Goose Prince...good enough for Ernst of Hammerfell...but no, Feodor le Dragula must have that dirty black old axe!"

"Actually that's the finest Dwarfian black steel," Krystina said, shading her eyes and squinting as the two armored figures exchanged bows below. "The rough finish is an artistic convention of the Iron Hills Dwarfs - Oh damn!" She dug in a pocket, producing a pair of thick lensed spectacles and put them on - just in time to see Feodor and the Black knight charge at each other. She promptly shut her eyes.

"Ooh, nice stroke!" Suzette's eyes were wide open and she watched with an almost professional interest. "Good block too, I guess he was right about the length...Oh no!"

"What?" Krystina opened one eye.

"First blood," Suzette answered grimly. "And it's Feodor's."

Krystina peered anxiously down at the two fighters with both eyes. Unlike Suzette she didn't have the training to appreciate what was going on. To her the two seemed to be simply hacking away at each other along with a certain amount of ducking, spinning and jumping.

"He is slow," Suzette said clinically. "But he's got the advantage in reach, damn it."

Krystina gasped in horror as Feodor slipped, rolling clear of a savage downward stab just in the nick of time. The Demon knight aimed another blow. Feodor, still on his back, swung the axe, the two black blades met and the sword's was sheered through.

"Okay," Suzette said grudgingly. "The damned axe has its points."

The black armored knight dropped the hilt and staggered back a few steps, Feodor rolled to his feet - and dark smoke leaked from the broken edges coiled around itself and thickened...

"It's not the knight who's the demon it's the sword!" Krystina cried and ran downhill, groping for her wand.

----

Feodor took a precautionary step or two backwards, eyes fixed on the smoke which was slowly shaping and solidifying into a naked woman. Her skin gleamed purple-black, and snaky locks of insubstantial hair coiled lazily around her head. Long lids lifted to show two points of red fire in the place of eyes.

"You have defeated my champion," she purred. Bending she picked up the two ends of the sword and mated the broken edges which united in a flash of red. The demoness extended the mended blade hilt first towards Feodor. "Take me."

He took another step backward instead. "I don't think so."

"Take me!" she insisted, gliding closer like she was on wheels.

Feodor hefted his axe uncertainly but his eyes were beginning glaze over. Then Krystina was between them.

The demoness recoiled hissing and the witch snapped her wand like a whip. The evil beauty threw back her head and screamed, a high eldritch sound, as her shapely form crackled and hardened into a column of black ice.

Feodor, recovering, stepped forward and swung his axe. The ice shattered into a million tiny fragments that instantly melted and evaporated under the clean warmth the morning sun. A second sharp crack turned Krystina and Feodor's heads just in time to see the black armor encasing the knight crumble to dust around him.

A skinny young man with pencil arms and xylophone ribs stood there, stark naked, blinking at them with watery blue eyes. His skin was white, as if it hadn't seen sun in ages, and his ragged head of prematurely gray hair came level with Feodor's chin. He stared at them blankly for a long moment, then toppled like a tree. Krystina went to bend over him as Suzette arrived at Feodor's side.

"Who's that?" she demanded, staring at the young man.

"Your demon knight - or rather the Demon's tool," Krystina replied, gently slapping the sunken cheeks.

"Will he live?" Feodor asked quietly.

Krystina shook her head grimly as the sickly youth remained limp and unresponsive. "It doesn't look good, she's all but drained him."

----

"Explain to me again why I'm giving aid and shelter to the demon who kidnapped my daughter and held my entire kingdom captive?" King Roi demanded holding out his mug for a refill. He was sitting in the big carved oak chair at the head of the long table dominating Grenfell Castle's great hall, with his daughter at his left hand and Feodor at his right.

"The knight wasn't a demon at all," Suzette explained patiently, pouring from the big pewter pitcher. "He was possessed by the real demon that was in his sword."

"The young man isn't responsible for anything that's happened, sir," Feodor added, and smiled. "Besides, Mistress Rose has decided to save him and I don't think it would be wise to get in her way."

The King nodded emphatically and took a gulp of his ale. "Don't worry, son, I know better than to cross a Rose Witch!" He frowned. "You think she'll take it amiss if we go on with the feast?"

Suzette looked at Feodor. "I think she'll understand."

He nodded his agreement. "I doubt she'll care what we do as long as we don't disturb her patient.

----

Krystina heard but ignored the sounds of music and laughter and once of breaking crockery floating down the long passages to the tower room she'd commandeered. The former Demon Knight was tucked under several eiderdown quilts and a fug rug, medicinal fumes rose from the big copper and iron braziers set on either side of the bed and a third fire roared in the hearth. The temperature was tropical, Krystina had stripped down to her shift, but the knight's lips were blue and from time to time he shivered.

There was a soft knock then the door opened and Suzette peered around it. "How is he."

Krystina shrugged. "I've done all I can, it's up to him now."

Suzette came all the way in. She was wearing a silver gown that shimmered like moonlight on still waters and a tall crown glittering with yellow topaz on her high piled hair. "What do you mean, 'up to him'?"

"He's the one who decides whether to live or die," Krystina explained. "The patient always does, Su."

The princess frowned. "I thought we died when our hour struck."

"Oh we do, but it's us what decides which hour it'll be." She sighed and looked at her patient. "I don't know how long this lad's been under the Demon's spell but there doesn't seem to be enough of him left to clamber back to life."

Suzette went closer to the bed for a better look at the pinched and bluish face. "Poor thing. He looks so young, Krys, yet the Demon Knight's been up there for centuries they say."

The witch shrugged. "He may not be the original host, maybe she's had others. Or maybe she had the power to arrest his aging. We'll never know unless he recovers and tells us."

"I hope he does, poor boy." Suzette reached out a warm white hand and brushed fair hair off the colorless brow. Blue veined eyelids fluttered and opened. The patient looked up, faded eyes widening at the sight of the golden vision leaning over him. "Krys!"

Krystina overturned her stool getting up and hurried to the bed. She was in time to see a hint of pink push the blueish tint from his lips as they parted in a sigh of wonder. A crystal drop fell from Suzette's blue eyes onto a pallid cheek which flushed with a sudden rush of warm blood.

"Look's like he's made up his mind to live," Krystina said a little dryly.

Suzette's face was illuminated by a brilliant smile. "Oh, I'm so glad!"

The patient rolled his eyes upward and fainted from pure ecstasy.

"Hmmmm...." said Krystina.

------

NOTES

1. This does not mean 'Jokes of the Romans' but 'Tales of Romance' in the chivalric sense


End file.
